Page 3 of Something that Could Last

I pretend to ignore him, not wanting to admit that he’s right.

I’m still thinking about those killer curves and her petite, athletic frame when we reach the station we’re looking for. My eyes wander, hoping to find her again. Before long, they land on the familiar blue shirt and I observe her for a moment, unnoticed. Her beaming smile lights up her whole face. It’s infectious. I find myself grinning like an idiot as I watch her interact with her customers. I quickly school my features though, because if Luke notices, he will stop at nothing to embarrass me. When she finally looks my way, it’s as if time stands still. I can’t see anything but her. No sound registers in my ears. I no longer feel the light breeze on my skin or smell the earthy scent it carries. Everything else just fades away. We study each other from across the short distance, and I commit every detail, from her thick rope of dark hair to her tiny white sneakers, to memory. After a moment, she glances away shyly and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

My feet propel me forward, her gravitational pull drawing me in, but halt in my tracks when her customer doubles over, vomiting at her feet. She impressively keeps her composure, an almost imperceptible pursing of her lips the only sign of her discomfort. I’m frozen in place, hoping the smell doesn’t reach me. That’s when Luke makes his move, shouldering past me to get in her line.

“No way, fucker,” he murmurs as he barrels past. “I'm zippin' down sugar tits' line.”

I bristle at his vulgarity. My fists ball at my sides and I grate my teeth as a wave of unexpected anger rolls over me. I need to cool my growing temper. I don’t even know this girl, but damn if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I guess I can’t really blame him for wanting to get close to her but the way he looks at her, like a lion watching a gazelle, ignites a firestorm of jealousy inside me. He’s a horny little cocksucker who will try to get into her pants before he even learns her name.

I consider following him to her line but don’t want to seem desperate, so I settle for the adjacent one. I fall in line behind a middle-aged man wearing khaki shorts that are three decades too short and a fanny pack. Who the hell wears those anymore? With a seriously receding hairline and an ill-fitting shirt stretched across his paunch, I see what I don't want to become. Mundane and mediocre. I want spontaneity. I want excitement. I want my existence to mean something.

“Holy shit, J. Look at my bulge in this thing!”

When I peer over at Luke, he's pointing to his crotch outlined by the straps of his gear. He is way too impressed with his own dick.Jackass. The green-eyed beauty behind him rolls her eyes, but a smile pulls up one side of her mouth, her amusement at his goofy ass a credit to her sense of humor.

Luke talks to her while she finishes buckling him into his harness and hooking him to the line. Once she’s done, I expect him to take off, but he doesn’t. They continue to converse for a few minutes, and I try not to envy how close he is to her. How he gets to hear her voice and make her smile. She seems to be enjoying herself, and that bothers me more than it should.

I tell myself I’m okay with her preferring Luke’s company over mine, but that’s a lie. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something special about this girl. It’s not just her beauty and the fact that she has the sexiest little body I’ve ever seen. It’s her shyness, her sweet smile. The way she throws her head back and laughs without reservation or insecurity.

Although his back is to me, he knows I’m watching the exchange between them. He reaches his hand behind his head and slides it down the back of his neck, pretending to scratch an itch. He balls up his fist and extends his middle finger, all without the girl seeing the obscene gesture. He’s just taunting me now. Prick.

“Next.” The guy working my line motions for me to step forward, his jaw tight and brows drawn together. He looks pissed, and all his simmering rage seems to be aimed at me. What the hell did I do to him? When I notice him continually glancing to my left at the girl I've been admiring, it all makes sense. Guess he’s noticed my interest in her. This asshole has a major hard-on for her, judging by the way he’s scowling at me. The furrow between his brows deepens when her eyes find me and she smiles. I can practically hear his teeth grinding together. His nostrils flare at my triumphant smirk. I’d better watch it since he’s responsible for making sure all my safety gear is secure. He might let me plunge to my death if I keep pissing him off.

Luke takes off before Asshole finishes connecting my harness to the cable. I try to still my nerves, but my insides are in knots and I'm starting to regret this decision. I steal one last glance at her. Her gaze is focused on me, eyes full of concern, sensing my apprehension. It’s not that I’mafraidof heights, I just don’tlikethem.

Stop being a pussy and jump.

She's watching.

It’s too late to back out now.

My stomach drops as I leap and hold on tight.

Abby

I RUSH HOMEfrom New River Adventures to freshen up for my shift at Rosie’s. Can’t serve food to people with dirt on my face and under my nails. I scrub myself clean and apply just enough makeup to accentuate my features. Some plum-colored eyeliner and black mascara to make my eyes pop, followed by a sweep of pale pink gloss over my lips do the trick. Letting my braid loose, I finger comb through the big, soft curls of my waist length hair and pull the sides back, securing them with a clip. I brush my teeth, throw on my freshly laundered uniform, and hit the door.

I pull into Tiff’s driveway and double tap my horn, letting her know I’m here. A few minutes pass before she bolts out of her front door clutching her makeup bag, stopping only long enough to put on her shoes. She slides them on, one at a time, hopping from foot to foot. She lands in my passenger seat with a huff and slams her door shut. The contents of her makeup bag spill into her lap when she turns it over and begins shuffling through tubes and compacts. She doesn’t share my disdain for tardiness and is never ready on time, so she ends up applying half her makeup in my truck.

“Hey girl, how’s it goin’?” she asks absently, a mascara wand combing through her already black-coated lashes. Tiff swears that any less than two coats of mascara is a waste of time.

As always, she looks absolutely fabulous. Tiffany is the epitome of a siren. With champagne blonde hair laying in perfectly tousled waves down her back, dark blue eyes, and a killer body, it’s no wonder guys go crazy over her. She's petite like me, but with slim hips and a more than ample bosom that’s usually accentuated by a low-cut top and an overflowing bra. She is shameless and confident in her sexuality, and I envy her a little for it.

“Okay, I guess. I'm glad to be out of job number one for the day. Some poor kid threw up right in front of me this morning. Got my shoes this time.”

“Again?” She stops fluffing her hair and scrunches her nose in disgust. “Didn’t the same thing happen to you last week?”

I nod. It happens more often than you’d think. And it’s always first-timers.

Our drive to Rosie's takes less than ten minutes. We step out of my old, beat-up Ford pickup in our matching black shorts and green t-shirts with “Rosie's Bar & Grille” printed across the front, the customary uniform for servers at the restaurant.

Grabbing our aprons, we head out to the dining room that's already buzzing with activity. I wave at Ros as we walk past the bar. She winks at us, her hands busy wiping down the bar. Aunt Roselyn, aka Rosie, owns the place with her husband Phil. She’s my dad's sister, and she and Phil have looked out for me ever since he passed away. Ten is way too young for a girl to lose her father. After he died, Mom wasn't much of a parent to me and my little brother, Ethan. Ros stepped up and tried to help us. She even offered to let us live with her, but Mom wouldn't hear of it.

“I sure am glad to see you.” The day shift server, Lindsay, presses her order pad in my hand and unties her apron. She lets out a puff of air to remove a rogue piece of hair from her face, but it falls right back into the same place. “Looks like you've got my section tonight,” she informs me, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. “Oh, and your favorite customer was just seated at table six.” She winks and I know exactly who she’s talking about.

Great. Mr. Morrison was the junior high math teacher for as long as anyone can remember until he retired a couple of years ago. He was that teacher who everyone knew was a pervert, but completely harmless at the same time. He always asks to be seated in my section and tips me generously. I try not to worry that one day he'll want something in return.

“Thanks, Lindsay. You just made my night,” I joke. Looks like I'll get at leastonegood tip. I usually do alright. Not as good as Tiff, but she flirts shamelessly with the male customers. They love the attention they get from her, especially the out-of-towners who don’t know her and fall for her sweet, southern, girl-next-door charm.

---